Found
by The Fisherman
Summary: Takes place directly after Dixie Pig assult and is an epilogue to the Dark Tower series.
1. Callahan

The Todash darkness was exactly what Callahan expected it to be.

He knew of the horrific monsters that lay in the todash darkness, waiting for lost souls to fall through, so they could have a decent meal every thousand or so years, and Callahan figured they would be upon him in an instant, once realizing where he was. He actually stayed put for a moment, laying on what seemed like nothing. There was nothing. Just darkness. He seemed to be the only thing down there with any color. It wasn't dark down there either- it was just black. A light seemed to be emitting itself from Callahan... The white still pulsed from him like an iron defense. Maybe that's why some unimaginable beast hadn't gobbled him up.

However, Callahan knew better. It was because he held the scrimshaw turtle for so long (can you say hallelujah) and now it had bought him some time

_(To be saved?)_

to live. Callahan didn't dare start walking into the nothingness, besides- from whatever where and when... he could be saved. Roland- Jake, Eddie... maybe even Susannah, depending, could snatch him right up any second. Hopefully to save him and tell him that the low men were defeated, the baby's not a demon spawn (though there's really no denying it) and that they all got out ok. Nevertheless, Callahan knew in his heart that some of them would die. How many members were there in the ka-tet of nineteen and ninty-nine? Gah, he was getting to old for the adventure- getting too old for _everything. Why can't the good lord just _claim _me already? _Callahan thought. Its god's, or Gan's will, most likely. _Why am I kept in this world? _Callahan thinks again, sitting in the darkness with a white aura around him. _Haven't I done enough for you, lord? I went through Redemption- I've gotton past losing my faith and drinking Barlow's blood! You have taken me back- so why is my story not yet finished?_

Can you say _Gawd? _

I.

The Great Sage and eminent junkie Henry Dean had once told his friends that Eddie could convince the devil into setting himself on fire. Eddie could still do that, but Henry had changed a load. Now, in Susannah's alternate world, Henry Dean had not been the eminent junkie but a Harley technitian. In Suze's new world they had never gotten addicted to drugs, and Henry had left Co Op City (in Brooklyn, gods be thanked) when he was twenty to live up in Maine in the small town of Derry. Or Lovell, or Salem's Lot (it exsisted in the alternate world, to Susannah's surprise, but not infected with vampires. An alternate Callahan was nowhere to be seen). Henry was a drifter these days, and Eddie didn't much worry about the Great Sage.

It was funny in the end- Eddie never did. Henry always worried about him, even though he was always an asshole, old Henry. And when Eddie got old enough, Henry let him loose and rode away up to main with nothing but his Harley and a backpack. From the letters Suze and Eddie received, Henry stuck around mostly in Salem's Lot (coincidence... I think not) and the nearby Lovell. Sometimes in Derry, too. He had made friends and he had multiple hotels and little nooks that he stayed at. Suze, in her new life, had only talked to him once or twice over the phone. But both Eddie's seemed to describe Henry the same way, so it wouldn't matter if they met, or not. Henry was happy where he was.

And so was Susannah.

II.

Can you say _Gawd, _say hallelujah and I say amen? Can you say _Gawd-Bomb?_

"God-Bomb." Callahan muttered. "God-_Fucking_-Bomb." He had not know just how long he had been sitting in the darkness of Todash. Time had gone awry, anyway. He was just another Bumhug condemed to the darkness that is this place. Callahan was pissed, frankly. He didn't even care of the fact that his white aura was fading and he could faintly hear growls from all direction. _A man could go insane out here, _Callahan thought. He hoped that he would. He thought it would be nice to just sit and wait for a monster to eat him. He was supposed to get peace when he took his own life for the boy, but no. Ka had to be a bitch and gan had to be the pimp behind it all. If Gan had spoken to him, and cared about him that goddamn much, why had the good lord man jesus above dropped him into the Todash Darkness, possibly to be rescued by friends that might not come for what seems like thousands of years, constantly hearing growls from the black? If Pere happened to survive, by the time that anyone drew him from this hell he would be drooling, his mind gone... they would touch his shoulder and he would fall into a pile of ash and finally (unless Gan says) he will have peace. The first thing Pere decided he was going to do in heaven was find the good lord and ask him why he put his soul down here for safekeeping.

Maybe it wasn't safekeeping. Maybe this happens to all people who are mauled by low men and assorted freakish creatures at the ends of their lives. There are some things that Pere never questioned- mostly because he understood so little of magic- but how had he ever gotton to Calla? He died- or at least he thought he did. Was it Gan who gave him redemption- or Stephen fucking King?

Black Thriteen?

Another question- how had he gotton Black Thirteen? _Ah, I'm being foolish. _Callahan thought. He made up his mind. Stephen King. Who else? It made sense. The author who wrote him saved his ass _more _than a couple of times. He had written in Black Thirteen with Callahan, and he had saved him by writing him into the Calla. Even worse- Callahan had the sense that the author had no idea. By the time the priest from Salem's Lot had died, Roland would have ceratinly gotten back to the author by then. Callahan wondered what the assorted low men were doing in the Dixie Pig just after he blew his own brain to pieces. Callhan chuckled. And somewhere, out in the Todash Darkness, something chuckled back. Not a monster, though.

Rick Fleming. 


	2. Rick Fleming

III.

In the opinion of Roland, perhaps, you could call people like Rick Fleming a monster. In Fleming's own opinion, monster was suitable enough. Hell, any name suited him. The Ageless Stranger, Randall Flagg, The Man In Black, Walter O' Dim, among others. Callahan had easily identified the man (though never seeing him in the flesh once before) as another persona of O' Dim. What other man would be waltzing around down there with a smile on his face in this hellish scenery? If endless blackness even counted as scenery... Nonetheless.

Callahan couldn't exaclty tell how long he had been down there before Fleming made his ever graceful appearance out of the darkness. The first thing Callahan heard was clicking- soft steps of leather shoes against the uncolored floor. Then the noise initially got louder and Pere found himself hearing whistling. It was his least favorite song, though.

"_Someone saved, someone saved my liiife tonight!" _A voice belted out comically from the darkness. Callahan let out an open groan. There was a titter from the black.

"In God's name and the name of the White, show yourself." Callahan mumbled. He looked up; black. He looked down; _black. _He looked left, right, and forward; _black. _The singing voice seemed to come from everywhere this time.

"As you wish, ex priest of Salem's Lot. As you wish, _Faddah." _Donald Callahan thought of where he met Walter O' Dim at the way station, and how he had been shoved through the door and into the Calla by the Ageless Stranger. There was no doubt who the voice belonged to when Callahan was adressed as _Faddah. _And it certainly wasn't because of the fact that the strange voices down in the Todash Darkness- the inbetween spaces, was from New York. "Faddah Donnie Callihan, da vampire slay'r. Da same priest who got hisself killed by dem low folks, and da very, _very _same who started some shit in the Dixie Pig. Welcome to hell, buddy-o, I'm your tour guide Rick Fleming. I'll show you to the "Unimaginable" monster den where we can see all the creepy crawlers and their little demon spawns, like the one that's coming out of Mia's pudunkadunk as we speak." The voice mused, and then there was more clicking of feet. Pere would see him any second.

Callahan felt breathless without even moving. He was coming, and Pere felt that he was going to die, again. Was this how Jake felt? How nothing in this world- _these _worlds, is even real? Reality is so thin- and too complicated. _Let me just meet my fate. _Callahan wished, the footsteps growing closer. _Our father who ar't in heaven, hallow be thy- _the clicks ceased. Callahan looked up- his eyes were closed and his head was down when praying.

Walter O' Dim/Randall Flagg/Rick Fleming stepped forward. His smile was huge and toothy. He looked like he did when Callahan met him in the desert. No black robe, though. He wore a fine business suit that was black enough that it almost- _almost _blended in with the background. The white aura still emitting from Callahan shrank a little when Fleming came close. Fleming's hair was slicked back and shoulder length, and his skin was pale. Above the breast pocket of his suit was a little pin on it with the _sigul _of the Crimson King. Next to this was a button with the words MAKE WAR NOT LOVE written on it.

"Why do you visit me, demon?" Callahan whispered, but his voice echoed and amplified it a hundred fold. Callahan felt the urge to reach for his cross and deflect the half-human half something or other like a vampire, but realized he didn't have it. Rick Fleming tittered once more and rolled his eyes around a couple times. Then he cracked his neck both ways. Callahan noticed Fleming was carrying a suitcase as black as the suit. What was in that case?

"I didn't mean to visit," Fleming tittered. His grin was so cemented onto his face that it was scary. "I was just in the neighborhood, you see." Callahan thought one word: _Bullshit. _

"People like you (though your probobly the only on of your kind) aren't just 'In the neighborhood'." Callahan muttered. And then, for the first time, he got to his feet. His joints cracked, and loudly. He stood before the man in the suit, unsure of what to say. So he just stood.

"I am _only in the neighborhood _for once, Faddah. Don't you trust me? Oh- but you don't know the whole story, do you? Time has grown thin, even down here. Actually, I'm ninety nine point nine percent sure that there is no time down in these parts." Fleming said. Callahan spoke up.

"Yeah, yeah. Get to the point, stranger."

"The point is, you haven't seen what's been going on at the other side. I could've just dropped in here two monthes from now, you know what I mean, Faddah?"

Callahan nodded his head slowly.

"Good. A lot has happened since you left, Donnie. I'm down here because I was stupid for once. Mauled by a demon spawn. Susannah- Mio's demon spawn, to be exact. Mia named him Mordred. He will finally make the Tower fall-..."

"LIES!" Callahan barked. Fleming laughed. "LIES, ALL OF IT!"

"Really?" Flagg/Fleming/Dim tittered. "Well, I suppose. Though I am the great Man In Black, even I cannot know what went on after I was killed. But I don't think Roland will have much luck with the _Little Red King, _anyhoozle." He tittered once more.

"Fuck off, hellspawn. God and the White command you." Callahan muttered, putting his head down and turning away from the tittering man.

"Like you have any faith any more, old man." Fleming spat. "You drank the blood of a vampire, your cross has been broken, and you have taken your own life. That's against the bible, is it not? Can you say _Gawd, _Donnie? Can you say _Gawd-Bomb? _Say hallelujah and I say amen? Can you say _Lord, good man Jesus in heaven?" _

"GOD! GOD GOD AND A FUCKING GAWD BOMB! JESUS IN HEAVEN, RID ME OF THIS DEMON AND SAY HALLELUJAH!"

And God answered his prayers.

IV.

Fleming stepped forward to silence the screaming ex priest of Salem's Lot, but he found he could not. Something- someone had protected Donald Callahan from the half man half demon.

It was a forcefield, sorta, and it surrounded Callahan in a box shape about twelve feet in each direction. It was like glass, but it could not be stained. Rick Fleming walked strait into it.

"What in Gan's name did this?" Fleming muttered. For once, he looked disappointed. And Callahan had another moment of feeling pity for Flagg, as he did at the way station, his feelings looking genuinley hurt. The beast who called himself Rick Fleming swatted at the (glass?) barrier annoyingly. "Ah, well." Flagg muttered, and then put on his happy face. "Looks like a case of bad karma. Mayhap I'll come back for you later, Faddah, but right now I have bigger fish to fry." And like that, the ageless stranger walked away into the black, singing "Someone Saved My Life Tonight." Callahan wondered who or what it was that saved him.

Sheemie Ruiz was his name.

V.

Susannah was eating dinner with Eddie and Jake when Henry called from Turtleback Lane. 


	3. Patrick

ONE

More often than not, people like Patrick Danville are drawn into bad situations by the work of ka, or Gan, or maybe just the evil of the Red King himself. However, he was no longer afraid, even without a tongue. He was gaining muscle, and he had laid eyes on the Dark Tower, and seeing such a lovely thing would certainly banish almost all his fear of the world, at least for the time being. Nevertheless, O Discordia... the game was not yet over. Unanswered questions. Things came to Patrick in his dreams that he drew- one of Roland bent and sobbing by Susannah, others of a door marked ROLAND. Some of an old man sitting in complete darkness, being tortured by the very words of a slick man in a black suit (can you say _Gawd_). This intrigued the tongueless boy, wondering what exactly happened after Suze left- after Roland walked through the gargantuan doors of the Dark Tower itself.

He did not want to concern himself with such things- he was free of Dandelo and he had his pencils, and his pad, and sharpeners as well as erasers. The memories of being locked in that cage were fading from his everyday mind, and he felt stronger. His goose egg muscles had grown stronger (like Eddie's junkie arms, over time) and by the time he reached the diverging Odd's Lane and Tower Road, he went in the ramshackle hut and spat all over the things Dandelo previously owned. After that was over, he spent a night sleeping in the road (along with some of Stuttering Bill's equipment, for he had everything needed for survival down at his matinence outpost). He would not dare sleep in the Joe Collins that was residence... for it would give him nightmares. Though now not of afraid of many things, the fear of Dandelo still hung in the fifteen-year-old boy's mind. It would fade eventually, he was sure, but he didn't know exactly when.

TWO

At the moment, Patrick Danville sat at the edge of Fedic, eating what Roland would have called tooter fish, and he shivered from the endless cold, besides the fact that his gunna was almost completely wiped out. Even though Patrick knew there was food, he surmised that the journey to the Callas might be a hard one. Besides, he'd been along this route more than a couple times.

THREE

_Patrick Danville sits in the back of a van in the year of 1999, and he is shitscared of what is happening. _Even after that horrible incident at the Civic Center those years ago? _He asks himself. Yes, yes it is. Because his mother is dead and his father is dead and his family is gone and Richard Sayre is looking at him. Oh, lord god in heaven he's looking at him, and it feels like he's been cut with a knife. He has neither pad nor pencil, and he shifts uneasily in his seat with nothing in his hands. He needs something to grasp. Even a pen without any fucking paper will do. Oh, Jesus H. Christ Sayre is looking at him and he's smiling his evil fucking smile as he rides towards his may have his tongue to scream humanly this time around, but he does not use it, for he is too nervous. He knows these are the Low Men, the Can-Toi, for he has drawn them out of the dreams he's had. He has somewhat of an idea where he's going but he doesn't know for sure. They've been drving for hours and the sleek black van is windowless. Moreover, Sayre keeps looking. The month and date is January 19, 1999, only months before the assult on the Dixie Pig, where he is headed at the moment. There, they will take him through the god-awful (and already malfunctioning) door to Fedic where he vomits on the ground and gets shipped off to blue heaven, where he breaks. Even though he has other powers contrary, he is still considered a precog and breaks for what seems like monthes before he makes his escape._

_ Before then, Patrick had also made various paintings for Sayre and others, mostly ones showing the triumph of the King or the Dark Tower or some other shit. And he breaks, and breaks, and breaks... until Brautigan escapes. Brautigan has no idea who Patrick is, nor has he noticed him sketching even more lovely pictures in the corner of the study all those monthes. When Brautigan slips out, Sayre goes out and so does Pimli Prentiss. Only the Weasel remains. Patrick draws for a full hour a picture of Finli O' Tego with a beautiful Taheen female weasel, one the Finli would fall head over heels for, staring at it for hours on end. Sadly, drawing for a man as evil as Finli would not bring the drawing to life. Then, the psychic he was, Sheemie came to him, and teleported him out. Without much talk, either. Sheemie could read Danville's emotions and there wasn't much time, anyway. Sheemie had teleported him to Fedic, and Patrick continued on Badlands avenue until he came to the Castle of The Crimson King._

_ After that, Patrick Danville remembers little. The first memory he can muster from the depths of his mind is being shoved into the cage by Dandelo, covered in snow. Dandelo appears to him as the monster he really is- because boy, Dandelo be a-hungry like Mordred be a-hungry, and Dandelo has been dying of hunger the past month and he needs his nutrition. He feeds on Patrick's fear, directly after taking his pad and pencils (Patrick to this day still did not know how Joe Collins that was knew of his powers) and Patrick grows thinner and thinner. He soon loses some of his intelligence and free will as he slowly dies down there, talent wasted, mind slowly going each time Dandelo sucks the life out of him. Them, after what Patrick judged was four weeks Dandelo gets tired of his yelling and yanks on his tongue. This is Dandelo's first attempt, which only loosens the muscle. It swells in Patrick's motuh and he yells more. The next day, Dandelo comes and yanks harder this time, and his tongue is out- only hanging by a few tendons when the second tug came. His mouth bled for hours, creating blood stains on the floor that Dandelo forced him to clean up himself. And then, Patrick Danville gave up hope. It could have been years that he'd been down there- Patrick didn't entirly know. But there was a greasy stubble of a beard and goatee forming, so some time had to have passed. Then, boom- regains his humanity. He regains his knowledge... and he draws every day. He draws every day not knowing that the man and woman who saved his life are each in grave danger._

_ Because the game ain't quite over yet. _

FOUR

Stuttering Bill had wanted to come with Patrick back to Fedic, making an excuse that he wanted to "F-f-fix the B-b-b-broken doooorrrsss." Patrick knew gravely in his heart that Bill was becoming more human then ever. And, it seemed, that his stutter could never be fixed. Whatever was wrong with him went all out of wack again, it seemed, and there was no turning back.

Stuttering Bill shorted out and died on the way to Fedic.

Patrick, suprisingly, buried the robot, as well as cried a little.

Say sorry.


	4. Roland

ONE

_"The Man In Black fled across the desert, and The Gunslinger followed."_

Though the memories were already fading from his mind- to Roland's despair... The Gunslinger made some shocking realizations as he trekked across the Mohaine desert for the (say true) thousandth time. He _was _ka. He _is _a beamkeeper himself. Gods, why did he not see it? He was forever condemed to journey towards the tower- it was like an aching sickness. He had to make the journey to the Tower to keep it standing. It was all so simple... execpt for the fact that beneath the stain of time, the memories disappeared because of his obsession with the Tower. Not this time, though. He would keep them in his head as long as he could now. A sudden thought occurred to him- was that the Man in Black up ahead? Wasn't he dead? In all honesty, Roland didn't think the man could die, even by the Hands of the Little Red King.

There was some other purpose for Roland besides the Tower, though. He had regained his humanity by drawing the three and given himself a family again. But even with that thought, The Gunslinger realized that death swirled around him like an aura- or more like an ever-present stench. Roland was still glad to know, though, that Susannah was alive and happy in another world- possibly with Eddie and Jake. But, in the Gunslinger's heart, he doubted that the two alternates remembered the trecherous pilgrimage toward the Tower.

The Gunslinger walked feeling oddly empty, and felt that he may not remember his past journey and all of his friends much longer. The Tower still called to him, all the way from Can Ka No Rey. But, Ka-Shume, he knew he had a duty to do, no matter how many people he killed.

He had to get to the Tower. It was his job for eternity.

TWO

Was the Crimson King also not dead as well? Or at least not a floating pair of eyes?

THREE

Roland could feel his memory fading.

FOUR

_Commala come come, the journey is not yet done._

FIVE

Something- or someone- out of nowhere, tackled Roland.


	5. Susannah

ONE

"Suze?"

"SUZE? HONEY? WE OUTTA MILK?"

"Heya, white boy- come down over here if you wanna talk to me. Cause I can't hear a thing when you yelling from all the way in the kitchen."

Eddie Dean walked into the living room- a big spacious hardwood floored space with long red curtains at the end of the room, behind which was a beautiful view of the lake. Before the lake, though, was a backyard of scattered green grass and evergreens. Beyond that, a small dock with a motorboat. On the livingroom floor was a deerskin rug that Eddie (and Susannah, who had actually shot the deer with no trouble) made. There was a long couch in the center of the room facing a TV mounted on the wall. After five monthes of being out of Roland's world, the house they had up in Lovell was already starting to feel like home. Susannah was settled on the couch with MTV on (which she thought was the greastest thing she'd seen since entering America again) and her new _prosthetic _legs lay on the floor, de-attatched from her stumps. Eddie gave her a wide grin, and then shook out his still wet black hair. He had just taken a shower and was dressed in nothing but a robe. There was some stubble of a beard on his chin. Suze muted the TV with the swipe of a clicker, and then turned her head to face her husband. In this world, it was official. A ring was on his ringfinger- and enscribed on it was a rose, the number 1999, and an ancient sandalwood revolver. When they had been arranged to be married, alternate Eddie hadn't said a word when Susannah made a request of what was to be carved on the ring. I think alternate Eddie had seen the same _siguls _in his dreams before meeting Susannah.

"Suzie, are we outta milk? Cause Jake eats only cereal eighty-five percent of the time, and I can't see any in the fridge. You want me to run out to Ezee Mart?" Eddie asked. Suze laughed- even after five mothes, Eddie still couldn't find his way through the refridgerator to get a gallon of milk. "What?" Eddie asked after Susannah started laughing, and then Suze broke out into howls of laughter that could only remind her of the notorious Detta Walker, whom she hadn't seen in monthes.

"You checked all the way in the back, honeybunch?" Susannah asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I did." Eddie said. "...Or call me asshole." He added after, stifling a grin. Suze gave him a doubtful look.

"Did you?" She asked. "Really? _All the way _in the back?" Eddie frowned. He turned back into the kitchen, and a few minutes later she heard him cry:

"Uh...Yep! FOUND IT!"

TWO

Jake was still in bed when Eddie found the milk, but when he woke up he would hound that Life cereal like it was a rabid dog thrown a large piece of prime rib. Boy (Alternate Oy. Jake named the odd dog "Boy" when he couldn't think of a good one.) At the moment was probobly dozing on Jake's bed, anxciously awaiting his departure from sleep.

Suze was usually up first, though, and sometimes she was still haunted by dreams of Roland and the dark Tower. And part of her wanted Eddie and Jake, hell, even Oy to remember the journey to the Dark Tower, in which more than half of the Tet died. Sometimes, only sometimes, she cried. She wanted to see Can Ka No Rey, oh lord in heaven did she want to, but she wanted this more.

Yet, there was still a feeling of emptiness. Like work wasn't yet done.

Could she still touch other people? Perhaps Roland- but he may be too far away. And what of Patirck Danville? And the Crimson King? Would the Tower still fall? Oh, god oh lord Mordred might have gotten them. But then again, no. Susannah felt as if Roland was still alive. She felt it. But he was in trouble, in some way. He was condemed. Suze tried to ignore these thoughts as Eddie appeared to give her a kiss goodbye- he was off to work at the Tet Corperation's Maine division- the company was setting up branches all over New England. It was odd how the corperation was in this world too- and Susannah had only heard about it from Roland. Maybe it was Susannah's idea of the Tet Corp. Plus, Suze was already starting to get an idea of what Roland's world actually was.

It was the future.

Based on going through the wastleands, she figured that sometime in the future the prim receeds and technology takes over. Then boom- nuclear holocaust and civilization resets itself, 1800s esk with a few futuristic things thrown in... and then you've got Roland's world. Then the Crimson King starts workin', and then time starts to grow thin as the world moves on.

Maine, _Mohaine. _You follow?

Suze found ti sort of interesting to think about. When Roland crossed the Mohaine, he was crossing the remains of what used to be Maine. By Roland's time, maybe thousands of years later... all life had gone from the state that probobly wasn't even a state anymore by then. And the mountains ofter the desert? The Appilachians, maybe?

Western Sea= New Hampshire/ Massachusetts coast?

Then, after that, are Shardik's woods and the forests of mid-world. Perhaps those could be Conneticut, Rhode Island, maybe even a little bit of inland New York and Massachusetts.

Lud is an easy one. That's New York City, baby.

Susannah shivered at the thought, though it was most definatley true. Then, the wastelands would be the American Midwest. Then Blaine would pass through where reality was thin. Susannah considered that every time Blaine made pilgrimage, he would end up in a different version of Topeka Kansas, from any where and when. Then, after going through the Kansas time vortex, one would come out at the edge of end world. The last bit of mid-west before the Rockies. That was where the Calla's were. Then, beyond was just desert... And Suze figured that Fedic in its former glory might- just _might _have been Los Vegas. After the nuke, who knows? Then again, after The Stand, who knows? Then there was the Rockies. Behind that was what are the White Lands in Roland's world. Well, who would've thought that the Dark Tower may lay in futuristic California? God damn, that's a lot to absorb. And Suze? She's sitting in a future desert.

THREE

_Commala come come, the journey is not yet done. _


	6. Trashcan Man

_The big one. _

His mind still hung around the thought of that holy fire, his face melting in the white light and radiation, and how he almost got one billionth of a nanosecond to scream in triumph of what he had done. He, Donald Merwin Elbert... had brought redemption into the city of Las Vegas, redemption not for Randall Flagg, but another, haunting and overhanging figure in the great mystery of all existance. In that moment when he almost got to scream, something occurred to him in that nanosecond before the hand of god released the missile. He realized he was not in his right mind, and that Flagg... Flagg had used him. Trashy could've gone to Boulder, where he would have been accepted. There was something off about Vegas and what he was doing and the Trashcan man had not relized until that moment that The Walkin Dude was _pure evil. _And then he knew the real reason why he had taken the nuke back. And then, God smiled upon him once again.

Then why was he in a place so dark?

It scared Trashcan man to an extent. A little bit of fire would actually _help _in this situation. You know, to ward off the growls coming from the black, and all. It was Todash darkness, Donald knew that somehow... but he could not explain why. When he was consumed in light... his life flashed through his mind. In that last bit of his life when he had first arrived in Vegas, his thoughts switched to an image- an image of a huge and dark, towering building ahead of him... with miles and miles of blood red roses, red and

(_firey)_

lushious flowers that made him feel at peace with the entire world. With that image, all of his past sadnesses were gone in an instant. Down to that last ten nanoseconds before he was gone from the world of Captian Trips, he saw a man in that field of roses... he looked fairly aged, and wise... with old leather cowboy boots and sharp, faded blue eyes. Two guns hung at his sides, and Trashcan man felt a magnetic attraction towards him, like he had first felt with the Dark Man. Then, he was sitting in the black, a pink aura around him. Did know where he was...somehow... but why? Couldn't he go up to that big place in the sky, like his mamma told him about when he was young?

Trashy let out a pathetic scream, only to hear it echo into the darkness. He could feel sweat on his brow. Todash. Scary word, scary place. And...

_Trash...where are you, Trash? My life for you, remember?_

It's him. He's down here, somehwere. The dark man... is searching for him and...

_Come out, Lloyd. We had a deal; you're my righthand man..._

"IM NOT HERE!" Trash screamed into the darkness. "NOPE, NOT ME! I'M DONALD MERWIN ELBERT! I DON'T WET THE BED, I DIDN'T LIGHT OLD LADY SEMPLE'S PENSION CHECK I SWEAR ON MY FUCKING LIFE I DIDN'T! I DIDN'T! I'M SORRY I FAILED YOU I'M SORRY IM NOT TRASHCAN ANYMORE IM DONALD IM- ..."

And then Randall Flagg was upon him, looking just as he had out in front of the MGM Grand. Dusty bootheels clocking across nothingness, first a walk and then turning into a run, towards the Trashcan Man.

_There was work for you in the desert Trash._

"NO, NOT ME! NOT MEEEEEEEEEE!"

_You have failed me, Trash. But its ok... its alright. You and me pal, lets start over. Do it right this time._

"GO AWAY! GO AWAY! I'M NOT TRASHCAN MAN ANYMORE NOT ME!"

_My life for you._

"NOOOOOO!"

_Say it, Trash._

"IM NOT THE TRASHCAN MAN! IM DONALD! DONALD MERWIN ELBERT!"

_SAY IT!_

"No." Trash whispered. There were silent tears running down his cheeks. Donald looked up. It was him. The dark man, looking thoughtfully down at him, his mouth curved into a wicked smile only the likes of him could produce.

"You don't have a choice this time, Trashy."

"That's not my name that's not my-..."

"SHUT UP!"

"You...don't...control... me... anymore." Trash said slowly. The pink aura around the Trashcan Man was slowly turning whiter by the second. A look of fear, then pure angry panic spread across Flagg's face. Then without another word, a ball of blue energy formed in his hand. Trashcan Man just smiled up at him. What did Donald Merwin Elbert have to fear anymore? God may know, the Trashcan Man did not. Flagg shoved the ball of energy into the Trashcan Man. Donald closed his eyes, but seconds later... found he was still breathing.

The first thing he saw was Flagg speaking, _yelling _actually, out into the nothingness. Trashy could not hear him, though. It looked like Flagg was saying... Sheem? Shimm? Shimmie?

_Sheemie. _

There it was again, the unseen force telling him. Donald just _knew, _all of a sudden. Trash tried to walk forward, but found himself blocked by an immovible, and apperantly invisible, object in front of him. Who had just saved him from his demise? God may know, Trashcan Man did not. 


End file.
